


The Life and Adventures of Pedro, Queen Sylvia's Personal Guard (And his Baby Girl Luiza)

by IShipThem



Series: Pedro, the Queen's Guard [1]
Category: Sister Claire (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShipThem/pseuds/IShipThem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, the other day, when Ash and Yamino were livestreaming the Beach Day wallpaper, Kelandra asked how the Queen sneaked out of the Palace and the girls were all “Well, she’s the Queen, she can basically do what she wants. What is anyone gonna do, tell her it’s a bad idea?”</p><p>So here’s the story of Pedro, the guy who gets to tell the Queen leaving the Palace is a bad idea.</p><p>Also his daughter Luiza.</p><p>(Reposted from Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life and Adventures of Pedro, Queen Sylvia's Personal Guard (And his Baby Girl Luiza)

Pedro is not having the best of mornings.

See, the thing is, his daughter, Luiza? She’s teething. And Luiza, bless her sweet little heart, is the apple of his eye and the joy of his life, but she’s also. Well. She’s a teeny tiny baby and Pedro has  _no idea_  how could a teeny tiny baby like that  _yell so ear-splittingly loud._

And Pedro’s partner, Maurice, happens to be out with a cold. He’s still nursing, and every time Luiza cries he tries to wooble out of bed, raising a shaky arm like a pitiful zombie. Except then he starts coughing. And then he starts sniffling ‘cause _he should be able to care for his little girl, dang it._  Meanwhile Luiza is still screeching. Look, Pedro loves these people, he really _, really_  loves them, but at this point? Sleep is a memory of a dream of a hallucination. He misses being asleep.

He misses it very much.

But no sleep is coming any time soon, because Pedro has a long shift ahead of him, and when one’s assigned to the Queen’s protection, one does not snooze at the job.

Pedro only wishes the Queen had not decided on today of all days to sneak off the Palace.

“You’re still on  _bed rest!”_  he hisses, horrified, at the sight of her up and about and getting dressed. Sylvia is so tired she barely has the energy to look up. It takes Pedro a minute to listen to what he’s just said, and then remember he’s not actually talking to his sick husband, but to the grieving  _Queen,_  and then he wants to drop dead at this very spot. “Your Majesty. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I’m very sorry.”

She smiles at him, Queen Sylvia does, because she’s absurd like that. In Pedro’s opinion, no one should have more rights to be impossible and furious and  _sad_ than Queen Sylvia does right now, and sad people shouldn’t have to smile for other people’s sakes. Least, he think so. “It’s all right, Pedro,” she tells him softly, turning back to the mirror.

He fidgets anxiously in place. “Your Majesty, you really shouldn’t be up, though,” he insists politely. “The doctor said…”

“Yes, I heard what the doctor said, thank you,” the Queen interrupts, not brusquely, but final for damn sure. “There’s someone I must see.”

“We could always send for them,” Pedro replies, watching with crescent worry as Queen Sylvia woobles towards her black cloak. “It’s so hot outside, Your Majesty. I don’t think it’s wise—”

“Pedro, you have a young baby, don’t you?”

The question jars him out of his worry all at once. “I— well— yes, Your Majesty, but—”

She interrupts again, gently. “How old are they now?”

Pedro blinks. “Well—ahm, she, her Majesty, Luiza, she’s—she’s ‘bout seven months old now. Why—”

“All of that?” Queen Sylvia replies, widening her eyes the teensiest bit. “My, Pedro, and I thought she was just born. You don’t look like you’ve been getting very much sleep.”

For all the stars above and under the sea, Pedro has no idea what she’s going on about. “Well, no, she’s—she’s teething? Hum. My husband’s been a bit sick lately. So I haven’t—”

“That’s too bad,” the Queen tells him, soft as a blanket, stepping towards the door. “Pedro, you are barely awake on your feet. You should take the day off. Go home to your husband and your child. Rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

And as Pedro’s standing there, sleep deprived and gapping at her, the Queen simply slips past him and walks down the hallway.

It’s five minutes until he understands he’s just been played.

* * *

 

It’s five months later and Luiza’s first anniversary is just around the corner. Thanks to his lucky stars, she’s been in a sunny mood lately, obligingly puckering kisses at acquaintances in the street, and chattering away all day in baby speak. Pedro has even reason to be smug, for she’s just learned her first word and it’s _papai_ , though Maurice insists it’s  _papa._ Well, let Maurice think that, Pedro says.

But because it’s her first birthday, and because Maurice has been known to throw parties for the purchase of new home appliances, he’s been going a bit out of his mind with the preparations.

He doesn’t mean to rant about it to Queen Sylvia, but—

“My, my,” she tells him, tossing yet another dress in his arms and disappearing further inside her closet. “I don’t see what’s wrong with pink streamers. They’re lovely.”

“Well, I think so too!” Pedro replied, taking the dress and smoothing it over the bed for the cleaning staff to put away later. “But Maurice insists Luiza doesn’t like pink. How should he know what colors she likes best, I wonder, when  _he_ ’s the one dressing her day in and day out? She’s one year old!”

He walks back to his position next to the closet and frowns at the air. “Do you suppose one year olds have color preferences?”

“What was that? Color preferences?” Queen Sylvia emerges again with yet another dress and walks up briskly to her mirror. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t – but how do you ask them of that, I wonder? Oh,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes scrunching. “I swore to myself I wouldn’t overthink this. Pedro, do you think I’m overthinking it?”

Pedro accepts the dress from her and raises his eyebrows. “What exactly is ‘it’, your Majesty?” he asks. The Queen’s handmaiden had called in half an hour ago, telling him she was going out and needed an escort, but she hadn’t specified for what. She’d also, it seems, been harboring under the illusion Queen Sylvia had been ready to go.

“I’m having tea with Oscar today,” she replies, wriggling her hands around a headscarf. “I’ve  _had_  tea with Oscar, and Catharine, of course, and Sabine, but—”

She trails off, and Pedro racks his brain trying to remember who Oscar is. He’s had flash card afternoons with Maurice because of this; before Luiza, when they were younger and more broke and their apartment only had one room. Long, orange, hazy afternoons trying to memorize the names of easily offended noblemen.

He can’t remember any Oscar. So he scales it down. If not noble…

“Oh,” Pedro realizes. “You mean Oscar, that new girl training with the Guard?”

What he’s really thinking is – the new girl everybody and their cats know is the King’s daughter, but we all politely don’t mention it? Pedro hadn’t known Queen Sylvia knew her, but now that he thinks about it,  _obviously_  Queen Sylvia knows her.

“Yes, her,” the Queen agrees, standing in front of her closet with her hands in her elbows. “We are meeting after practice… and going out. I  _promised_  I wouldn’t overthink it.” She frowns at herself, which in her face looks as lovely as a summer day. “So I won’t. I’m ready. Let’s go, Pedro.”

She’s halfway to the door before Pedro really processes what she’s just said. “Wait—wait, your Majesty. Did you just say you’re meeting—are you going out to the Lower Ring?”

Queen Sylvia opens the door and walks out. “Yes? I suppose. Oscar said her friend, Nib I believe, knows a good place for sorbet.”

Pedro gaps after her. “But that—Your Majesty—you know that it’s not—we’re in the middle of passing a new law!”

Queen Sylvia looks over her shoulder at him. “Yes, I should be aware of that, Pedro, as I was the one who proposed it.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Pedro agrees haphazardly. “And you know how the, uh,“ he lowers his voice as far as it’ll go, “the court gets when you do that.”

“Oh,” Queen Sylvia whispers, and that does give her pause. Pedro can barely believe it worked. “Yes – there  _is_  that.” She touches her fingertips to her lips. “I didn’t suppose it would be a problem, you see. Most of the time I doubt they know the Lower Ring  _exists.”_

She’s right about that, of course. “Not them exactly, your Majesty,” Pedro explains. “But many people who  _work_  for them. They certainly do.”

The Queen bites her lip, wondering. She’s not one to underestimate how much certain nobles want her gone, but she’s also not one to let them keep her from her life. Fixing a stern look on him, the Queen asks, “Would you mind a sorbet terribly much right now?”

One day, Pedro will learn to speak Queen if it kills him. Today is not that day. “I’m sorry, your Majesty?”

“Sorbet,” Queen Sylvia reiterates. “I would require an escort until I met with Oscar, but – maybe it’s wiser you accompany us. Would you mind, Pedro?”

Pedro gaps at her in an unflattering manner. “If I—Queen Sylvia, is your Majesty inviting me out for  _sorbet?”_

“Yes,” the Queen replies coolly, and before Pedro can figure out how he even got into that situation, she’s walking again, and he has to hurry to keep up. “Shall we, Pedro? You could tell us more about Luiza’s birthday. I’m sure Oscar’ll agree with me that pink streamers are lovely.”

Well, Pedro figures, his priority number one  _is_ making sure of her safety, and if that includes sorbet… he won’t complain too much about it.

* * *

 

Luiza’s three when she first meets the Queen, and Pedro’s not there to see it, but boy, does he hear about it.

“Her hair is  _yellow,_ papai!” she keeps saying, the way one would describe chimeras or mermaids – little bit outraged and entirely shocked.  _“Yellow!_  Like _pamonha!_  It’s  _so yellow!_ You didn’t tell me it was  _yellow!”_

Next to her on the dinner table, Maurice is struggling not to laugh, and Pedro smiles at him over Luiza’s head. “I thought you knew it was yellow, filhota. What color did you think it was?”

 _“Brown!”_  she screamed, affronted in the way only a three year old can sound. “Like you and papa!”

And Pedro can’t contest that train of thought, now, can he?

Maurice tells him about it better when they go to bed that night: he tells about the Queen laughing and blushing at Maman’s antics, and of Genevieve, whom Pedro has heard the Queen talk about. He tells him about the girl getting chased by a seal and how Luiza screamed and tried to climb him at the sight, and how Catharine came over to calm her down. He describes Luiza in Catharine’s lap, and the seal jumping around them, and how it had nibbled at the girl’s toes, making her yep with laughter and pull her feet up and accidentally hit Oscar in the chin.

So now Pedro can tell people his three year old defeated the Royal Guard’s best swordfighter.

He’s glad Queen Sylvia had some fun for a change. God knows Pedro spends enough time following her around from one Royal duty to another, then waiting outside for hours on end while she deals with every sort of bullshit on the face of the Earth. It’s nice that she’s got to have her Lady’s Days out.

Even though Pedro gets assigned to the King’s Guard in her days off.

Not that he has anything against the King, let’s make it clear. Only, Pedro realizes he’s a little bit spoiled. He’s Queen Sylvia’s personal guard after all, and  _sure_  she gives him white hair, and sure, possibly no one else in court is wanted dead quite the way she is, but – well, let’s put it this way. Tomorrow, when he sees her again, Queen Sylvia will probably tell him about Luiza and the seal and how she’s so glad she finally got to meet her, and the King—

The King gets kinda awkward around non-nobles.

He’d been really bummed when he found out the Queen borrowed his sun hat, too. Pedro can’t blame him for that. It  _is_  a very nice hat. Luiza didn’t think so, though, cause, as it happens, she actually  _doesn’t_ like pink.

“Oh, was he upset about the hat?” Queen Sylvia asks the next day, walking down next to him on their way to meet Important People. “You see, this is why I’m always telling him we need to coordinate outfits.”

And the thing is, today is still not the day Pedro learns how to speak Queen.

* * *

 

The whole town is talking about Lady Oscar these days, it seems. And they well should, Pedro thinks, ‘cause he’s seen the kid fighting at the last tournament, and he hasn’t witnessed swordsmanship so fine since the Captain herself. Luiza seems to be of the same opinion. She’s still pissed at them for ushering her out of the arena last time, but Pedro isn’t about to tell a five year old girl he was saving her from seeing a severed arm.

Still, she’s mighty angry at them. Maurice tries to tell her the story about the seal and the Queen to sooth her, but Luiza doesn’t believe it. She doesn’t remember it happening, and thus it can’t be true. And the more they insist, the more she becomes convinced all of it is a big ugly lie designed to placate her, and the more she becomes upset at them.

“You’re  _lying_  to me,” she accuses her fathers at last, and  _oh,_  poor Maurice, he looks like there’s daggers in his precious heart when she says that.

Pedro can’t let that situation rest, now, can he?

He’s been in medical leave for three weeks now, from a particularly nasty attempt at the Queen’s life – but his hip feels fine again, and his face only  _kinda_  looks like it’s been through a meat grinder, so Pedro powers up one sunny afternoon, and fishes out Luiza’s formal wear from her wardrobe.

“Where are we going?” she asks him suspiciously, eyeing the shiny buttons and the little boots.

“It’s a surprise,” Pedro tells her, maneuvering the girl into her coat. It’s a bit hard with an arm in a cast, but she’s curious enough to help out. Maurice, who’s been fretting about it since yesterday, decides to go as they’re stepping through the door.

At the Palace Gates, the guards let them through after hugs and a lot of whistling and a lot of telling Luiza how her  _papai_  fought off the mean people that tried to hurt Queen Sylvia. She’s still got a slightly suspicious look in her face, but something in her posture softens. They go inside.

Maman and the Queen and Oscar and Catharine are in the middle of tea, as Pedro predicted, but when she looks up and sees them, Queen Sylvia looks simply delighted. Luiza’s eyes are so huge, they’re popping out of her face. “Is that Lady Oscar?” she whispers at Maurice, voice quivering, looking like she’s about to pass out right here in the garden.

“Pedro! It’s so good to see you,” Queen Sylvia exclaims, and she doesn’t even flinch at his purple face. “Standing, that is.”

He chuckles, for now he has  _base_ speaking knowledge of Queen, and turns to introduce his family. Maurice’s cheeks are the color of roses, which’s surprising if you know how little blushing shows in his dark skin, but Luiza isn’t even looking at the Queen. She’s staring at Oscar like she’s the sun and the moon and also all the stars all at once.

Oscar gives her a little wave. Luiza runs behind Maurice.

“Oh, who do we have here?” Sylvia asks, leaning gently around him to get a peek at Luiza. “You  _can’t_  be Pedro’s daughter. You’ve grown so very much since I last saw you! Won’t you come say hello to my friends?”

Luiza slowly peeks from behind her dad, and stares at Oscar again. Pedro sneaks a look at the table. Maman’s got her chin resting in her hand, and a faint smile on her lips, and Catharine, holding back giggles, is trying to reassure Oscar no, she isn’t frightening that little girl, that’s not why she’s hiding.

Luiza looks back at Queen Sylvia. “Is that Lady Oscar?” she whispers at her in the voice of someone planning a conspiracy. The Queen presses a hand to her lips.

“Yes, little love, yes. That  _is_ her.” She gives Pedro a look, one that says  _I see what you’re doing,_  and offers Luiza her hand. “You want to come with me and I can introduce you?”

Luiza nods so hard, Pedro’s afraid for her little neck. The Queen reaches for her hand, but Luiza, on autopilot, raises her arm instead to be picked up.

And in the Queen’s face, oh, Pedro sees it because he so recognizes it, is an old, old sort of hurt. His heart jerks for a moment there, for he can only imagine that particular hurt, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. Queen Sylvia dips down and collects the little girl, and Luiza sits on the Queen’s hip as easily as she does in her own dad’s.

“Now, who’s this little one, Sylvia?” Maman asks when they approach, beaming at Luiza. “I know your dad, dear heart, but I haven’t met you yet. Do you know who I am?”

Luiza looks at her, tucked under the Queen’s chin, then sneaks another glance at Oscar, and shakes her head. Maurice wraps his arm around Pedro’s.

“You can call me Maman, dear heart” she tells Luiza, with a great wink. “And I’m Oscar’s mother.”

Luiza straightens up in Sylvia’s lap like a bullet. “You’re Oscar’s  _mom?!”_  she exclaims, so loud half the garden can hear her. Oscar’s cheeks start blazing. Sylvia looks at Pedro over Luiza’s head, her eyes sparkling with humor. Maman lets out a big belly laugh.

“Why, yes! Yes, I am. Last time I checked.” She reaches out to pull Luiza into her lap, settling the girl so she’s facing Oscar. “You wanted to meet her? I can introduce you.”

Luiza’s staring at Oscar, still. Oscar fidgets unsurely; clears her throat. “Hello,” she tells Luiza kindly. “Will you tell me your name?”

The girl leans backward, away from her, sucking in a large breath. And then:

“My-name-is-Luiza-I’m-five-years-old-I-think-you-are-really-pretty-I-really-like-your-hair-and-you-look-like-you-sparkle-and-I-like-your-eyes-and-I-think-you’re-really-cool-and-I-saw-the-tournament-and-and-and-and—”

She wheezes, pauses to fill up her lungs again, then barrels on like there’s no tomorrow. Catharine’s got her face pressed against Oscar’s back, shaking with laughter, her face all pink and giggly, and Oscar’s going redder by the second, lips stuttering around half-formed words. Maurice is trying to discreetly wipe his eyes on Pedro’s shirt.

“I think that worked out well,” the Queen tells him, stopping by his side, a knowing tilt to her lips. “You could’ve brought her sooner, Pedro. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Oh, all that Lady Oscar worship is a new development,” Maurice informs her, although five minutes ago he had barely been able to say hello. “We took her to the tournament, you see. It was love at first sight.”

Sylvia smiles at him, gently, then looks over at the tea party, in time to see Luiza widely gesturing in a mimicking of sword fighting, and Oscar, delighted, suddenly getting up to show her the moves. Pedro’s got such good ideas now and then.

He sees the Queen’s fingers wriggling, and he looks down at her, and he thinks about the first months after her marriage, when he had to whisper names and titles to her – he thinks about the first time she announced she was going out and he had drawn a blank so white he thought he’d lost his vision. “Your Majesty,” he’d said, voice faint with the shock, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

And Queen Sylvia, bless her a thousand times, Pedro knows she would never have  _said_  that, but the look she gave him! “ _You_  are a bad idea,” it looked like she was thinking. And Pedro wasn’t gonna blame her, was he, when he was the guy whose job was basically to dog her heels all day? He would’ve been annoyed, too.

Pedro remembers standing outside her room, and how the echoes of ghost, tiny footsteps, had seemed to haunt the halls for weeks. He sees the look Queen Sylvia is giving Luiza, as she tries to mimic Oscar’s stance, and he also sees the looks she gives  _Oscar,_  all the time, every day.

“You know, Your Majesty,” he tells her, lowly not to bother Maurice, and she looks up at him with an absent smile. “If you don’t mind – and I know I’m overstepping – but if you may, would it be too much of an imposition if I brought Luiza around again? I’d like her to have more women to look up to, you understand, as she hasn’t many of them in her life – and I can’t see who’s a better role model than Your Majesty.”

Queen Sylvia’s cheeks go pink at his words, and despite his efforts, Pedro’s aware Maurice heard every last word of it. He presses his forehead to his husband’s arms, and nods softly. “If it’s not too forward of us,” he adds politely.

“Oh! Oh, no – not at all,” the Queen says, flustered, looking back at the tea party. “No, Pedro, of course I don’t mind. You’ve nearly died more than once in my service, how could I deny you this? She’s as lovely as I remember her.”

Drawing a deep breath, the Queen sways ever so slightly in place, fingers twisting. “I suppose I should—” she tells them, gesturing back to the table, and Pedro nods at once, bowing as gracefully as he can manage.

“Of course, Your Majesty. We wouldn’t dare keep you from your guests.”

From her spot on the table, Maman catches his eyes and winks at him, and Pedro wiggles his eyebrows back at her. Chuckling, she waves them away. Luiza is so busy with Oscar she barely notices them retreating farther into the garden, giving the group some privacy.

Later in the afternoon, when they come pick her up, Luiza is fast asleep, drooling in the Queen’s shoulder. Pedro thinks, if this were five years ago, he would’ve been in a mighty panic just about now.

Maybe he’s getting better at speaking Queen than he thought he was.


End file.
